Of Old Spice and Whiskey
by Nina28
Summary: There were whispers about Dean and Sam, in their underground world, there had always been, about how close, disturbingly so, the Winchesters were…and just how much close, exactly, were they, anyway?


Bobby Singer was not a stupid man. He was not blind or deaf, either. He knew what he knew and he kept quiet but sometimes his mind wandered…and sometimes, like that night, while he was in his kitchen as Dean was in the panic room, keeping vigil on Sam, he really couldn't help it.

There were whispers about Dean and Sam, in their underground world, there had always been, about how close, disturbingly so, the Winchesters were…and just how much _close_, exactly, were they, anyway?

That was what the murmurs were among hunters; everyone and their mothers, in their world, knew that no one could mess with them. Everyone knew the lengths those boys would go to protect each other.

Some of the hunters, the stupidest, the ones he wondered how they actually survived during hunts, even snickered about the two brothers and how they were faggots for each other.

He ripped all of them a new one, every time rumors reached him…and he lied.

Truth was…

Fuck, he was not drunk enough to think about all of that, not while Sam was trapped inside his own grapefruit and Dean was shedding some more of his soul at his bedside.

Truth was…the rumors were true…and so fucking wrong, at the same time.

He wasn't blind, deaf or stupid. He knew, he had for a long time…he saw how things changed between the boys as they were growing up. He saw how Sam fell, hard, for his brother and how Dean fought it, every step of the way.

He saw it…and saw what Sam leaving for Stanford did to Dean. John and he had worked steadily together for months on a couple of big hunts in the months following Sam's leaving for California. Dean was there, physically at least, cold efficiency, grim resolve…and a suicide streak the size of Grand Canyon.

It took one bad night, a whole bottle of Jack Daniels and over 30 points of suture for Bobby to really get the truth: Dean was in love with his brother, and his absence, his silence, was tearing him apart.

_Fall 2003_

_John was in the kitchen, drinking straight from the bottle, sitting at the table, when Bobby entered the kitchen, carrying the cloths he had used to cleanse Dean's wounds. _

_John had been in the room while Bobby had stitched Dean up, he hadn't offered to take care of it and hadn't said a single words, as Dean kept his eyes tightly shut, his hands clenched in fists as he didn't let out a single sound. _

_He hadn't even noticed when he had left, and by that time the morphine he had injected Dean had kicked in, knocking him out cold. He sighed, dropping the dirty cloths in the trash and sat next to John._

"_Kiddo's sleeping" He said. _

_John nodded, Bobby sighed and waited a second, before asking, "What the hell did happen, John? I knew your son was pretty reckless, didn't peg him for the suicidal type!"_

_John snorted at his words, but didn't say anything, not that Bobby had expected he would. That man could be a frustrating son of a bitch on his best days…and that, definitely wasn't one of them._

_He shook his head, stretching a hand to accept the bottle John was handing him. He took a swig and as the liquid burned down his throat, his mind went back to what had happened while he stitched Dean and tended his wounds._

_Dean had been silent, foggy with pain and morphine…and then he had called for Sam. It had been a whisper, actually, a broken whisper, that had sounded like a plea, that had made his hands tremble for a moment._

_Hadn't he said his wife's name the same way, after her death, when he missed her so much that he thought his heart would just shatter for the emptiness he felt?_

"_Sammy…" He had whispered, again. A plea, his voice caressing each word with reverence, almost._

Can't be…_he had thought, getting back to his stitching up job, banishing those half formed thoughts in the back of his mind and yet, now, in the half lit kitchen as he sat in front of John, all the pieces were falling in place: the way Dean had closed off for the past few months, the way he had become more and more reckless during hunts…how he never even mentioned Sam's name._

_He had known Sam had a huge crush on his brother, it had been kinda hard to miss it, with Sam looking at Dean like he had hung the moon, like he was the second coming, and all the clichés that applied to a love struck teenager._

_What he hadn't imagined, was that Dean…felt the same._

_And it took him just a glance at John to understand that the older Winchester knew. _

"_He's gonna get himself killed…" Bobby said._

_John shook his head, the trademark Winchester denial kicking in, "he won't…" He said, "I taught him better than that…"_

_Bobby cocked an eyebrow at John. He could talk…calling things as he saw them, but it wasn't his place to do that. He supposed that their lives where really fucked up if they could sit down and think about *incest* without freaking out, without feeling sick about it. He supposed the freak out might still come, once the adrenaline rush and the booze wore out, but he kinda doubted it._

_After all it didn't really come as a surprise…and he was pretty damn sure that the boys hadn't acted on their feelings. If they had he was sure Dean wouldn't have ever allowed Sam to leave._

_He wondered, for a second, how Sam was doing in California, whether he whispered Dean's name with the same reverence, the same love, his older brother had used._

_He couldn't come out and ask John about his sons being in love with each other, but he couldn't keep it quiet, either._

"_Bull…" He said, "your son is getting suicidal on the job, John…you saw him in that warehouse. He just didn't care!"_

_John looked at him, for a long moment, his eyes boring into his. He saw everything in the other hunter's eyes: shame, guilt, worry…and then, again, denial._

"_He…is adjusting" John eventually said._

_Bobby took another swig form the bottle before saying, "right…like you did?"_

_Damn…so much for being subtle!_

_John's eyes flashed, anger and something akin to pure hatred in his eyes, "I'll pretend you didn't just say that!"_

"_Ok, won't change things, John…and we both know that."_

_There was a long silence after his words, eventually John said, "It's my fault. All of it…"_

_Bobby couldn't really argue with that; he knew John loved his kids, he knew he had tried his best…and Dean and Sam were two brave, honest boys…good hunters, who were too much into each other for their own good._

"_I thought…" John said slowly, almost as if it was physically painful for him to talk - and somehow Bobby didn't think it was that far from the truth, "…that with Sam away, things would get better. That they would get over it…"_

_It dawned on Bobby that John might have pushed Sam away not only because he was a proud, stubborn bastard…but to protect his kids as well. _

"_Well bang up job on that, John!" Bobby said shaking his head, "I don't know how Sam is doing, but Dean? Not so well…"_

"_He is young, he has …" John started, and Bobby couldn't help it, he shook his head, and had to fight to keep anger at bay._

_He got what John had tried to do, he really did, and he couldn't say he disagreed with that…but Dean was losing it. "All Dean has ever had is Sam, John! 'Cause you drilled it into him. And now Sam's gone…how's supposed to adjust to __**this**__? "_

"_I did not want *this* to happen!" John hissed._

"_We know better than anyone that shit happens, John…now the question is: what are we gonna do about it?" ~_

The long talk with John had proved to be fruitless and John, after that, had made himself scarce, spinning a story about him threatening to shoot him if he ever set foot in his property again.

Dean, though, had pulled himself together…and it took Sam dying, for Bobby to understand why: he did it for Sam.

He closed his eyes, as his mind kept going back to Dean and Sam. It should have upset him when he figured out that the relationship between the boys had shifted, that somehow, they had crossed that line, but at the time, with Dean's days running out because of the deal, and the prospect of him spending eternity in hell had made the idea of incest and the moral qualms about it, pretty much a moot point.

Not that the boys had ever as much as touched each other in a non brotherly way under his roof, but the change had been there, clear as day, in the way their eyes lingered on each other, in the way the air around them seemed almost charged with electricity, in the desperation that had tinged every moment in the days before Dean's time was up. And even if he hadn't known or noticed it, the scene that greeted him, when he stepped into that house, a few minutes after the midnight of that day, would have made it obvious..

_May 2008_

_The first thing he notices when he gets into the house is the silence; it's the kind of silence he knows too well, it's ripe with death and sobs so thick that get stuck in one's throat, making it hard to breathe. _

_He doesn't call their names, he just walks, ignoring the body of the old man in the living room, he can smell blood…and something rotten, hot, sinister._

_He swallows, feeling the sweat collecting at the nape of his neck. That house is…empty, or at least he thinks so until he hears the noise, and he freezes on the spot, unable to move a muscle._

_It's a cry…low, prolonged. If he were the kind of man who waxed poetry over shit like that, he'd have said it was probably the sound of an heart breaking. He isn't that kind of man, though._

_Oh, there's heartbreak alright…and it's Sam's heart that it's going to pieces, it's Sam's voice that's making those low, prolonged, strangled sounds and Bobby doesn't want to see, doesn't want to see the blood, doesn't want to see Dean's body…doesn't want it to be real, he tells himself that even as his body moves, slowly at first, and then with more and more urgency as the cries go on, more desperate._

_The door is open and the stench in there makes his guts clench: blood…so much blood, and that hot, putrid smell that invades him, tears at him. He scans the room, taking in all the details at once, willingly ignoring the two men on the floor, for the moment._

_Ruby's gone, he takes a step toward the girl and crouches next to her. He knows she's dead, but he's buying time. Another wail, and then silence…and Bobby needs to see now._

_Sam is sitting on the floor, his jeans drenched with blood, as he cradles Dean's upper body_

Oh God_…he thinks, fighting tears and the urge to scream, kick and smash that comes with the realization that they have failed, that Dean is dead, that he's being tortured in hell in that exact moment._

_Sam is oblivious of his presence in the room, his world seems to be reduced to the body he's holding, cradling in his arms, his nose pressed against the side of Dean's neck as he makes another broken sound, like he can't breathe, like he doesn't want to._

You make sure he's okay, Bobby…you hear me? You make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Anything **me** stupid!

_Dean's words, the ones he had uttered just the night before, come to his mind. Dean hadn't asked him to promise, his tone didn't admit a refusal. He hadn't even answered Dean, he had just nodded._

_He is wondering, now, how he could pull it off. He takes another step toward the boys, and notices the way Sam's hand is curling above Dean's chest, the part that hadn't been ripped open by hellhounds. He swallows bile and tears and kneels in front of the boys, noticing that Sam keeps his mouth pressed against Dean's neck, his nostrils flared, tears streaming on his face._

_Another broken sound, coming from deep within Sam, new tears on his face and he doubts Sam is even aware of his presence in the room, Bobby is sure that if he were to kill him now, Sam would just take it, accept it with gratitude, while his hand is still on his brother's chest, willing his heart to beat, willing him back to life._

_He sees the boy pressing a soft kiss on Dean's temple as he closes his still open eyes with the palm of his hand and whisper something against it._

_He doesn't know what he said, he isn't even sure he wants to, he moves, startling Sam and Bobby would forever recall the way he clutches Dean's body against his chest, for a moment, to shield him or to go down with him._

"_Sam.." Is the only thing Bobby says...because, really, what else can he say? _

_Sam's eyes fills with new tears, but his voice is surprisingly clear when he says, "How am I supposed to…"_

_Sam doesn't finish his sentence, he doesn't need to. It's clear, it hovers in the room, even when a while later, Bobby doesn't know how much later, they move Dean's body. It hovers between them, when he watches Sam taking care of Dean, washing away the blood, with such tenderness that after a while he needs to leave, although he doubts Sam notices. _

_Sam's unfinished phrase looms over him, while he watches Sam digging his brother's grave, refusing his help, without speaking, without uttering a sound, his eyes dry and bloodshot, Dean's amulet gleaming under the moonlight_

_How was he supposed to live without him? That's what Sam meant to say and Bobby has no idea, the only thing he can do is try and keep the boy safe, for Dean._

He didn't even know how long he's been staying in the kitchen, as far from the panic room as he could, sitting on a chair, drinking and giving Dean space. He chuckled to himself, a bitter sound that he smothered with another shot of whiskey, when he thought of all the excuses he has found for the past few years to grant the boys some privacy.

They had never touched each other under his roof, that much he was sure of…now motel rooms, abandoned houses all over the country or his junkyard that one time, were another matter altogether.

Now he might not be disgusted, freaked out about the whole thing, that didn't mean he wanted to watch Dean and Sam in action.

Not if he could help it.

He sighed. He had never caught them fucking, or with their hands into each other's pants – and God, that was a mental image he really didn't need atop everything else – that didn't mean he had never seen them together.

That didn't mean his heart didn't break a little, when it happened.

_May 2010_

_It was cold outside. Bobby couldn't sleep, didn't matter how much he tried. They just had a few hours, before they set in motion Sam's suicidal plan. There were no guarantees it would work, but then again…it wasn't like they had tons of alternatives._

_If they were going down, they would go down swinging, fighting. _

_He didn't see them at first, they weren't exactly hiding, but they weren't in plain sight either. Normally Dean and Sam would do a better job at hiding, or Bobby guessed they would, at least in his junkyard, but not that night. _

_Part of him didn't really want to see, hear, what was going on, he liked to live in denial about the boys – _**his**_ boys, in everything but blood – just fine, but part of him needed to. He wanted to see them together, without pretenses, to know…it didn't really make a lot of sense, not even in his mind, but they were about to go and try and stop Lucifer,_ _being rational wasn't exactly high on the list of priorities._

_He took a step, bracing himself for some unwanted sight that delved into porn, what he saw, instead, surprised him: they were sitting on the pavement, their backs against a wall, the Impala, Dean's baby, shielding them, sleeping bags sprawled under them. They were both dressed, although Bobby noticed how both their shirts were untucked._

_Dean was resting his head on Sam's chest, his eyes closed, while Sam's arm was possessively curled around Dean's shoulders._

_He had known the truth for a long time, he had accepted it, hell…he even teased the boys about it from time to time, he had seen what they were for each other plenty of times, but never like that: they were holding each other, tightly, the lines between brothers and lovers so blurred and so interwoven that it was impossible to understand where one thing ended and the other begun. _

_They were doing a piss poor job at hiding their fear, their desperation…he could see it in the way Dean seemed fixed on listening to his brother's heartbeat, a hand resting on his stomach, his eyes closed, frown lines marring his brows. He could see it in the way Sam was tightly holding Dean at him, he wouldn't be surprised if the boy had bruises the next day, neither of them seemed to particularly care about that, though. _

_They held each other, limbs tangled, and then Dean tilted his head up and looked at his brother…his lover, or whatever the hell those two were for each other; even then they didn't talk, maybe they didn't need to, maybe they couldn't, Bobby wasn't sure …all he knew was that they were saying good bye to each other, their real good bye, and he felt like he was intruding, he turned his back at them, and headed back toward his house, his legs heavy as he could still see the way Dean and Sam had looked at each other and how, despite everything, they had been smiling. ~_

Dean couldn't see him, or if he did, he didn't care, when he stood outside the panic room, they were all past the point of pretending, especially after Sam's return…his real one. He was still sitting at Sam's bedside, the only difference was that his fingers were curled up around Sam's wrist, as he watched him breathe.

Bobby was sure, positive, that if Dean had had a way to get inside Sam's mind, not even God himself could have stopped him from crawling inside Sam's mind, to drag him back, to him. After all he had done everything in his power, once he had realized that his instincts about Sam were right, that it wasn't really him…he had fought, tooth and nails, to get his brother back, and things had gone well for them…he could see it: it had been a clean slate for them, the past forgotten and forgiven.

Until Castiel had broken down Sam's wall. He sighed, wearily pressing his palms against his eyes. They would have to leave soon, if they wanted to at least try and stop Castiel. He would have to talk Dean into leaving his brother's bedside, but for a moment he left him alone.

Only later did he finally talk to Dean, a long, overdue talk, while they were heading toward the address Balthazar had given them.

Actually it was Dean who started it, he wasn't even looking at him while he said, "Thank you…"

Bobby looked at him, frowning, for a moment, then said, "Don't mention it…"

"I know what you might think" Dean said.

"Trust me, son, you don't!" Bobby said, interrupting him. The last thing Bobby wanted, in that moment, was having an awkward conversation with Dean as he tried to explain or apologize. Truth was…none of them had any apologizing to do, least of all to him.

Dean nodded at his words, his hands gripping tight the steering wheel, worry and concern clearly etched in his features.

"All I know…is what I see and I see just two idjts who," He paused, trying to find the right words, then decided to call things as he saw them, "love each other…the details are none of my business!"

Dean threw him a glance, for a short moment he saw relief washing over him, then Bobby could see the flash of worry in his eyes.

"Listen Dean…" He said, "I know this must be hard, but of one thing I'm sure"

"What?" Dean asked, without turning to look at him.

"If there's a way to fight it, Sam will find it…" He told him, Dean didn't seem so sure, Bobby sighed, "He will, Dean…he'll find a way."

It was the truth: heaven, hell, God and Lucifer had never stopped them before, why things should be different now?

"He'll find a way to come back to you." He said, without looking at Dean. "You always do…"

The end.


End file.
